Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are
by n00b-masta2112
Summary: "Up until the very end, I’ve always been spineless and cowardly, always taking the easy way out." Foxface's last moments. It's been done before, but not like this.


**Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are**

It doesn't even make sense that I've survived this long. There's me, the boy from District 2—Cato, I think—and the District 12 tributes left. I've been hiding, running, stealing. I've managed to avoid confrontation and battle since the very beginning, and I'm still alive. Incredible.

But I don't expect to stay in these Games much longer. Cato is a monster; I've seen him hunt and kill ruthlessly. It makes me sick. He's so sure he's going to win. I wouldn't be surprised if he did. The tributes from District 12 have an advantage, though. They're together. They can both return home victors. They have two brains, two sets of eyes, two sets of ears. Lucky. I could use double senses in this arena. I can't hide forever. Whoever finds me first will no doubt destroy me.

Maybe if they meet each other first I'll have a slim chance. I hope Cato and the girl on fire kill each other. I bet I could take out the District 12 boy easily enough. He seems weaker than the others, softer. More human. Impossibly loyal. I kind of admire it, actually. If I had come here looking for allies I would've chosen him, just because I know I'd be able to trust him. But that's impossible. He's head over heels for that other girl, Katniss, if I remember correctly, and she doesn't feel right to me.

Too much deception. Too many lies.

I don't see how that boy could put so much faith in her. She's obviously acting. She doesn't love him. Am I the only one who can see that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I watch the boy now—Peeta, I heard Katniss call him. He's collecting food for the two of them. Roots, herbs, berries. _Poisonous_ berries. I recognize them and sink further into the shrubbery. Doesn't he know those will kill him within seconds? Probably not.

I consider darting out from the underbrush in which I've concealed myself to distract him, make him drop the berries. He's strong. He could kill me and I'd be out of this hellhole quick. That doesn't sound so bad. I still hope Cato and Katniss kill each other in combat, but now I forget about killing and hope this naïve District 12 boy wins. He's good in a different way than Cato, than me, than anyone. He's kind. Genuinely good. Better than everyone else here. Better than most people in this wretched world.

Please don't eat those, I will him silently. Look at me. Look at me. I'm ten feet away from you. Look at me.

He doesn't look at me, but he doesn't pop any of the berries into his mouth either. Thank whatever God watches over us. He needs to win, I decide. He deserves to win. As nice as it would be to make it home alive, I know I'm done. After all this I'd never be able to sleep at night. Even now the words pulse in my ears. _Coward. Coward. Come out, come out, wherever you are. Come out and fight, coward. All you do is hide. You're nothing but a sneaky little coward._ No, I decide, he's risking everything for the girl he loves. If I can't win, he deserves to.

But he won't make it five more minutes in these Games if he eats those cursed little berries. Think, I tell myself frantically. Think, think, think. Do something. Fast. _Think_.

I curse softly under my breath and rise from my crouching position on the dusty ground. Peeta's out of sight and earshot now. I pace silently in the small clearing, slinking lithely from one end to the other, trying to devise of a plan to save the boy without getting anyone killed. I hate this. I hate this so much. I don't want to be here. Why did I have to get picked for these damn Hunger Games? I hate having to weigh death with every step, mere instinctual survival the only thought inhabiting my mind. I feel like a wild animal. Anything is better than this. I'd rather die.

Then it hits me.

_Dead within seconds._

A cannon blast. A warning. A way out.

The berries.

I creep over to the bush from which Peeta got them and pluck a few from its branches. I cradle them gently in my palm and examine at them closely, then glance over my shoulder in the direction I know Peeta and Katniss have their camp. How long until they eat? How long do I have to warn them?

And the longer I stand here thinking, the more I realize I'm not doing this entirely for them. Less for them, in the end, and more for me. I really just want to get out of here. I'm good at hiding. I'm good at running. I never face things head-on. I'm primarily weak and elusive. That's what I do. This way I'll escape everything forever. I'll never have to face anything, ever.

These tiny, deadly berries are my ticket out of here. Maybe not home, but I came to terms with the fact that I will never see District 5 and my family again a long time ago. Once my name was called at the Reaping, I knew I was done for. This is just easier and vastly less painful than an axe to the face. This makes it look like an accident, too, the way I just watched Peeta take a bunch to eat. I'm sure I look gaunt and starving. Crazy. Pathetic. Thank you, Lover Boy! I'd rather go down looking like a fool than the coward I truly am any day.

I bring my hand to my lips and tilt my head back, tipping the berries into my mouth, then crush the roof of my mouth against them. They burst, and crimson juice floods my mouth. My tongue is drowning in the stuff, my eyes widening and swimming with panic. I'm dead. This is it. I'm dead.

The poison slides down my throat and dances through my veins, and I feel myself fading. Yes, I think. Yes, yes, yes, it's done. It's over! I'm out.

As the venom stops my heart and I hit the ground numbly, I hear a cannon fire faintly in the distance, what seems like ten lifetimes ago. My hand falls limply beside me, stained red and guiltless. Up until the very end, I've always been spineless and cowardly, always taking the easy way out. Here I've found a painless, quick escape. I've eluded Cato, Peeta, Katniss, the Games, the Capitol, violence, life. Everything.

I'm the sly, mysterious, elusive fox. I'll never come out, come out, wherever I am.


End file.
